audblog audio post
The quote comes from one of my favorite short stories, The Man Who Rowed Christopher Columbus to Shore by Harlan Ellison.
Feb 28, 2003
On Gettin' Ready, 'Cause it's Comin' at Ya Like a Ton a Bricks, Bitch.
Monday, March 10th is The Big Day. Haven't checked out my new button below (because writer boy has been so deeply ensconsed in the bar biz that he quit writing, and you, my Gracious Reader got a little less Gracious and tuned out)? Well, What RU W8ing 4?
Can't wait to meet this guy and his band, as he is my new role model.
Monday, March 10th is The Big Day. Haven't checked out my new button below (because writer boy has been so deeply ensconsed in the bar biz that he quit writing, and you, my Gracious Reader got a little less Gracious and tuned out)? Well, What RU W8ing 4?
Can't wait to meet this guy and his band, as he is my new role model.
On The Movie Quote I have Been Hearing In My Head Every Time I Listen to the News
"Today I settle all Family Business"
- Al Pacino, The Godfather
I remember how disappointed I was when, after weeks of counting and he lost, he still gets to be President (I mean, I don't get to be President, I'm just sayin'). I also remember in the first days and weeks after Sept. 11th that I was actually a little glad that we had Dubya in the White House, because he clearly was not gonna put up with this shit. Time to strap on the guns, Dad, watch me kick some ass, just like you did.
But who's he shooting at, and why? (I'm back to wishing the Democratic Stuffed shirt had pulled it off.)
The who is about to be Iraq. The whole country. Not Saddam Hussein and his weapons of mass destruction, which apparently are both highly lethal and seem to have some sort of stealth capability. Not the people who perpetuate his power as a dictator, not his personal Goerring's and Himmler's. Not the people that are oppressing the citizens of Iraq, who according to even the White House, are the most intelligent well eduacated population in the Arab world. That's who were gonna end up shooting, and blowing up their homes, and maiming their children. Just average guys and girls, living out their lives under the thumb of a nut-job and just trying to get a loaf of bread on the table.
The why? Best I can tell, its Family Business, 'cause I don't feel any safer.
"Today I settle all Family Business"
- Al Pacino, The Godfather
I remember how disappointed I was when, after weeks of counting and he lost, he still gets to be President (I mean, I don't get to be President, I'm just sayin'). I also remember in the first days and weeks after Sept. 11th that I was actually a little glad that we had Dubya in the White House, because he clearly was not gonna put up with this shit. Time to strap on the guns, Dad, watch me kick some ass, just like you did.
But who's he shooting at, and why? (I'm back to wishing the Democratic Stuffed shirt had pulled it off.)
The who is about to be Iraq. The whole country. Not Saddam Hussein and his weapons of mass destruction, which apparently are both highly lethal and seem to have some sort of stealth capability. Not the people who perpetuate his power as a dictator, not his personal Goerring's and Himmler's. Not the people that are oppressing the citizens of Iraq, who according to even the White House, are the most intelligent well eduacated population in the Arab world. That's who were gonna end up shooting, and blowing up their homes, and maiming their children. Just average guys and girls, living out their lives under the thumb of a nut-job and just trying to get a loaf of bread on the table.
The why? Best I can tell, its Family Business, 'cause I don't feel any safer.
Feb 21, 2003
On The Ultimate Futility Caused by Toothpaste on Your Sleeve
She's English. Her friend needs to use the phone in the office, and I let her, at first against my better judgement. But She's blonde, and very cute, and I am lonely lately, so any feminine attention at all is like cold pizza at 3 a.m., not really what you want, but good enough to get you through. I really don't want these two stangers in my office. Not until She speaks, that is.
"This place was recommended to us by collegues, so you had better make sure we have a good time." Coy, without the slightest hint of demanding. The wink was built in to her voice. And that accent just floors me.
She and her friend retreat into the club, and within minutes are having so much fun they can't wait to buy a souvinir. We're out of T-shirts, sorry ladies, the waitress says. But a little constructive digging around in the office produces the last one, hidden away in the back of a shelf behind a box of utterly useless junk.
She beams when I bring it out. She's let her golden hair out of the pony tail. She's wearing a sassy little denim jacket with a pink support ribbon (breast cancer?) She touches my arm, looks me directly in the eye to thank me for finding the one thing that can make Her supremely happy at that moment. Her eyes shine with the possibilites of all the ways I might make Her happy in the future. I look down at Her hand, pure white and soft on the dark red sleeve of my shirt, almost in awe that She has deemed to touch me.
And there's a toothpaste stain on the cuff of my sleeve.
Another perfect romance down the drain. Fuck.
She's English. Her friend needs to use the phone in the office, and I let her, at first against my better judgement. But She's blonde, and very cute, and I am lonely lately, so any feminine attention at all is like cold pizza at 3 a.m., not really what you want, but good enough to get you through. I really don't want these two stangers in my office. Not until She speaks, that is.
"This place was recommended to us by collegues, so you had better make sure we have a good time." Coy, without the slightest hint of demanding. The wink was built in to her voice. And that accent just floors me.
She and her friend retreat into the club, and within minutes are having so much fun they can't wait to buy a souvinir. We're out of T-shirts, sorry ladies, the waitress says. But a little constructive digging around in the office produces the last one, hidden away in the back of a shelf behind a box of utterly useless junk.
She beams when I bring it out. She's let her golden hair out of the pony tail. She's wearing a sassy little denim jacket with a pink support ribbon (breast cancer?) She touches my arm, looks me directly in the eye to thank me for finding the one thing that can make Her supremely happy at that moment. Her eyes shine with the possibilites of all the ways I might make Her happy in the future. I look down at Her hand, pure white and soft on the dark red sleeve of my shirt, almost in awe that She has deemed to touch me.
And there's a toothpaste stain on the cuff of my sleeve.
Another perfect romance down the drain. Fuck.
Feb 17, 2003
On My Natural Expression
I go through life with a bit of a scowl on my face, it would seem. I am not an angry person, anymore. I used to be quite the sour-puss, with a healthy case of small man's disease from always beeing the kid on the far end of the front row of the class picture. I got beat up A LOT when I was young because I could not control my temper. As I grew older, I realized that I look pretty serious most of the time, and it made me difficult to approach, so most people didn't bother. I made a serious effort to change that about six years ago. Those who know me now know that I am anything but grumpy most of the time. I'm pretty outgoing. "Just because you ARE a character doesn't neccesarily mean that you HAVE character." In my case, I like to think that's not true. I am, frankly, a fucking blast.
Anyway, I got asked seven or eight times tonight "Dude, you okay?" because I had my usual serious, thoughtful expression on my face. The reason I don't walk around all day grinning like an idiot is because I'm not one. The fact that it was the same guy asking me what was wrong with me over and over again about every ten minutes has only served to accomplish one thing.
Now I'm in a bad mood. So leave me alone.
I go through life with a bit of a scowl on my face, it would seem. I am not an angry person, anymore. I used to be quite the sour-puss, with a healthy case of small man's disease from always beeing the kid on the far end of the front row of the class picture. I got beat up A LOT when I was young because I could not control my temper. As I grew older, I realized that I look pretty serious most of the time, and it made me difficult to approach, so most people didn't bother. I made a serious effort to change that about six years ago. Those who know me now know that I am anything but grumpy most of the time. I'm pretty outgoing. "Just because you ARE a character doesn't neccesarily mean that you HAVE character." In my case, I like to think that's not true. I am, frankly, a fucking blast.
Anyway, I got asked seven or eight times tonight "Dude, you okay?" because I had my usual serious, thoughtful expression on my face. The reason I don't walk around all day grinning like an idiot is because I'm not one. The fact that it was the same guy asking me what was wrong with me over and over again about every ten minutes has only served to accomplish one thing.
Now I'm in a bad mood. So leave me alone.
Feb 7, 2003
On Throw Pillows at 3:42a.m.
I know it's been a while, but this isn't really for everybody.
I'm on the downside of the second of two really ass-end days in a row, capped off by screaming at lots of people that I like who didn't deserve nearly what they got. That's tacked on to the end of a really shitty week that capped off a handful of really shitty weeks, so I'm doing what I do to cope. I'm watching West Wing, and I've dragged out Sports Night re-runs, and I'm lying on the floor with a throw pillow from the new couch under my chest because it helps when my ulcer is acting up, and I just buried my face into the pillow for a moment.
And it smells like you.
I know it's been a while, but this isn't really for everybody.
I'm on the downside of the second of two really ass-end days in a row, capped off by screaming at lots of people that I like who didn't deserve nearly what they got. That's tacked on to the end of a really shitty week that capped off a handful of really shitty weeks, so I'm doing what I do to cope. I'm watching West Wing, and I've dragged out Sports Night re-runs, and I'm lying on the floor with a throw pillow from the new couch under my chest because it helps when my ulcer is acting up, and I just buried my face into the pillow for a moment.
And it smells like you.
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